


love, let it scatter

by Authumnder



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College Hockey, M/M, Pizza Parlor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authumnder/pseuds/Authumnder
Summary: “We’re on a date?” Jack asks.“Yes?” Connor says with... a hopeful look? “I thought you knew?”Jack has like, a few paragraphs to say to that—the first one being, ‘you don’t ask someone to go out for dinner because you havecouponsand then say it’s a date,’ and the rest being, ‘what? Since when do you havefeelingsfor me?’(Alternatively, Jack's catching feelings.)
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid
Comments: 26
Kudos: 237





	love, let it scatter

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this fic's supposed to be enemies to lovers but I got soft so here we are. Might suck a lot (it's me, of course I suck. No regrets, though), consider yourself warned!
> 
> But seriously thanks for taking the time to click on this :) I have a [Tumblr](http://sideswiped.tumblr.com) if you want to thirst after McEichel with me (please I need someone to talk to about them, I have _Feelings._)

Jack only creeps closer once the girl—who’s been looking like she’d rather pull all of her teeth out than stay here for one more second—fled the scene. The dude with the backwards snapback and a tight henley does, though, stays at his table chewing on another slice of pizza, calmly sipping on his coke as if he hadn’t just gotten deserted in the middle of a date.

Jack definitely feels more sympathetic towards Suffering Girl.

He feigns wiping the table next to it, deliberately avoiding making direct eye-contact with Douchey McDouchebag. Pizzeroo, the pizza parlor he’s working at, if the name isn’t self-explanatory enough, suddenly got famous overnight after an incident involving fraternity boys and sorority girls and also some illegal substances, because of course there’s weed involved in that, and the manager has been smart enough to order in a few more tables and chairs, but not smart enough to acquire the dying store next-door to expand the stuffy place. The point is, the space between each table is ultra-small now, if not non-existent altogether, meaning that Jack can hold a conversation with the dude while still hiding behind his cover of cleaning the table next to him.

“Hey,” he says, lowly at first, then louder when Sir Obnoxity Personified didn’t even budge. “Dude, hey.” 

The dude twists around in his seat. “You talking to me?” he asks, pointing at himself. 

Jack resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes.” He says instead, keeping his tone low because the place’s crowded and Jack definitely hasn’t the time to make small talk with a customer. But like. Dude obviously needs this talk, considering this is the second time he brought a date here and then got left behind by said date. Jack’s not a stalker, he was just unlucky enough to have both occasions on his shifts. “No offense, man, but like, I have few suggestions for you, if you wanna hear them?” 

“Suggestions about _what_?” Lord Dingleberry asks, both eyebrows raised. Jack has to find out his name _soon _because he’s running out of synonyms for the word douchebag. Plus, he doesn’t actually know if the dude’s a total dipshit, _yet_, just that his dates so far have been unsuccessful and both were because of his complete inability to be just a _tad bit interesting_. 

Fine, yeah, maybe Jack’s too invested in this. But he has working ears, okay? And his job requires him to go past that guy’s table at least five times each time. It’s not like, his fault for hearing things he wasn’t supposed to. Plus, Jack doesn’t think he’s being a total creep if his intent is to like, help the dude out a bit. By practically telling him he sucks, sure, but like, _he’s helping_. 

“Dude, you do realise your date just like, left you in the middle of a date, right?” Jack says, half-expecting the guy to say ‘no?’ like the clueless fucker he seems to be. 

“What? My date only went to the bathroom,” 

_See?_ Jack’s totally got this dude figured out. 

“Yeah, right, by going straight to the exit.” Jack says, then, when the dude only looks more bewildered, “Bathroom’s that way.” He points at the right side of the shop. 

“Shit,” the dude says. He looks down at his pizza and mumbles something Jack can’t catch. “So, like, you have suggestions for… what, exactly?” 

Jack’s about to say something snide to answer that, but he catches the manager giving him the stink-eye for lingering, so his cover of ‘cleaning’ has definitely been found out. He gives the almost-shiny table another brush before straightening up. “Got to go back to work,” he whispers to the guy. “Talk to you later, if I get the chance.” Jack books it from there before he could reply. 

Jack doesn’t, at the end. Get the chance he means. The shop gets a hurricane of hungry students the next moment he’s done doing his round, and by the time the new customers are finished being served, Douchey McDouchebag’s table is vacant. Though Jack doesn’t really blame him, dude probably tried to dawdle at first but unable to take the pointed look the manager no doubt sent him. The old bastard’s ruthless like that. 

* * *

If Jack thought that would be the last time he sees Douchey, he’s in for a big fucking surprise. 

Douchey’s apparently a freshman, turns up to tryout one day and immediately snatches a spot in the roster (Jack’s thoughts and prayers go to the third-year whose spot’s been stolen), a hockey prodigy or something, which explains why he’s a fucking beast on ice and somehow the fact that he sucks at dates as well. You can’t be great at everything, y’know? Jack likes to think that maybe Douchey’s parents sold his ability to be interesting on dates in exchange for outstanding skating and unmatched puck-handling. That’s a small price, considering. 

“Hi, I guess you play, too?” Douchey saunters over where Jack’s standing when practice’s winding down. “Name’s Connor. Connor McDavid.” 

Jack has to stifle a laugh at that. “McDavid?” he repeats, just to make sure, then finally cackles aloud when Douchey nods. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. Can’t help it. 

“What?” Douchey McDouchebag, whose name is apparently Connor _McDavid_, asks a little defensively. “What’s so funny about my name?” 

It takes a moment for Jack to get control over himself. “Nothing!” he says, throwing his hands up to show that he’s not making fun or anything. “I’ve just been… speculating about your name, that’s all.” 

Douchey—_McDavid! _Jack immediately scolds himself, in fear that it’s developing into a habit and he accidentally calls the dude that. Jack’s not mean, okay—looks even more confused. 

“It’s nothing,” Jack waves a hand, and thankfully Coach’s calling everyone to gather again. “Don’t worry about it.”

Thing is, Connor McDavid is really _fucking _good. Like, Jack-level good and maybe a tad bit more (though Jack’s not admitting that out loud, Jack will always think of himself as above him unless dude fixes his on-dates etiquette. Yeah, he’s really not going to let McDavid live that shit down). Jack’s evidently not the only one who thinks so, because by the time practice’s ended everyone is latching themselves onto McDavid. Not to think that Jack’d probably do as well, if only there’s an empty space around the guy. As it is, there isn’t, like, at all, Jack even has difficulties trying to see McDavid’s face, so Jack stays away. 

Jack has an hour free before he has to head out for work, but now that he’s thinking about it he feels like he should just head there, anyway. Get an employee-discounted pizza or something while he hangs around the back office, waiting for his shift to start. Isn’t like Jack has something better to do. 

“Hey, Jack,” McDavid says when Jack’s busy lacing his sneakers, has to look up to find who’s talking to him. “Um, is it okay if I call you that? Everyone’s calling you Eichs,” 

“Either is fine,” Jack replies. He gathers his stuff and gets up from the bench. “What’s up?”

“Where’re you heading?” McDavid asks. 

Some of the guys on the team are going to a sports bar near the school to watch the Bruins game tonight, Jack’s heard. “If you’re asking if I’m going with the boys, answer’s no,” Jack says. “I’ve got work.” 

“Oh, I’m not either. Going, I mean,” McDavid says. He’s still a little red on the face, probably from the extortions earlier. Coach is brutal like that, doesn’t even let them slack off a bit on their first practice of the season. “By work, do you mean the pizza place?” 

Jack nods his head. He’s done with his stuff and probably should get away soon, if he wants to laze around before his shift starts, but like, McDavid’s still there, and it’d be rude to leave him without finishing their conversation first. 

“I mean, my shift’s not for another hour, but I’m going now so I can have a few slices or so,” Jack adds, when McDavid’s still silent even when he looks like he wants to say something. 

“Oh, um,” McDavid pauses, fist bumping a few guys who pass by them and bidding them goodbye. He turns his gaze back to Jack after. “Do you mind if I join you? You haven’t gotten around to tell me your _suggestions_, remember?” he says suggestions like it’s inside an imaginary quotation. 

Jack grins. “Don’t see why not. C’mon.”

Pizzeroo isn’t that far from their practice rink, but it still takes a good fifteen minutes to get there. Usually Jack doesn’t mind this, thinks of it as an addition excercise for all the pizza slices he’s about to devour, but it’s hard to not feel awkward walking alongside someone you’ve barely known for a day. Jack isn’t that great with stilted silence, makes him want to fill it with meaningless chatters, which he does—of course he does, he’s Jack Eichel—to which McDavid only replies with humming sounds and a few oohs here and there.

God, it’s almost exhausting.

“This is what I’m talking about yesterday,” Jack says, after only three minutes. He’s weak, he’ll begrudgingly admit. “You’re not like, actively contributing to the conversation. You’ve gotta make it interesting, Connor.”

(Yup, it’s _Connor_. If Connor’s calling Jack by his first-name then it’s only fair that Jack does as well.)

“Oh, sorry,” Connor says, sounding small. “I’m not... like, really great at small talk.”

Jack heaves a breath. “Yeah, if that small talk doesn’t include hockey, that is,” he says. The dates, remember? In those, Jack very clearly remembers Connor rambled on and on about hockey to the very-obviously uninterested ears of his dates. It’s actually... endearing? To Jack, at least. Like, the guy was mute for the first half of the dates, but then the topics touched hockey and he sounded like a broken dam right then and there. Jack’s spent a few minutes of his shifts internally cackling at him.

Connor sighs. “I probably sounded really obsessed with hockey.” He says.

“I’m not gonna say no to that,” Jack says, chuckling a little. “But maybe.. tone it down a bit? I mean, it’s great that you’re very passionate about something, and I think like, showing it a little is good, like, your girl’s gotta know what you’re interested in, you know? But making the entirety of the convos you have with them about it is probably too much? I’d advise against it. Unless she’s also interested, I think you’d be fine if that’s the case, but like, if she doesn’t? Don’t do that, dude.”

“Oh,” Connor says faintly. He probably didn’t expect Jack to dump that many words all at once on him. “That does make sense.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack says. “That’s me, baby, I make sense all the time.”

Connor laughs. “Bad, Jack.”

Jack lets the silence takes over again for a moment, he needs a breather, after all. that But then curiosity takes over and Jack just _has _to ask, “What’s with the endless dates, though? Like, what’s the hurry?”

It’s a valid question, in Jack’s opinion. Connor’s second (failed) date was only four days after the first one, after all. That must took efforts.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Connor says, worrying over his lower lip a bit. “Um, my roommate dared me to get a girlfriend before December. I don’t... I don’t back down from a dare.”

Jack snorts. “You _do _look like you don’t back down from a dare.” He says sarcastically.

“Thank you,” Connor says, polite, but kind of mocking, too? Jack’s honestly surprised.

“Wasn’t a compliment, dude,” Jack says, but Connor only laughs in return.

* * *

So, Connor hasn’t backed down from the dare, _obviously_, because two days later he shows up at Pizzeroo (again, on Jack’s shift), with another girl in tow. She’s pretty, blonde hair and slim waist and good fashion sense, and she wears a Bruins hat which—good job finding someone with the same interest, Connor!

The shop is slow today, only a few students here and there, meaning Jack can sneakily make his way to the back office if he wants to. But he’s kind of curious how the date’s going to go, so he stays, and tries his best to not look like he’s eyeing table #12 too often.

His manager is nowhere to be seen, too, so lingering is definitely an option as well, though for some reason Jack feels weird doing so? Like, he’s fine doing it when he doesn’t know the identity of Douchey McDouchebag (who turns out to be neither _douchey _or a douchebag), but now that he does he feels... what, violating?

So Jack stays at the shop, but he doesn’t hover near them, or at least not close enough to overhear whatever conversations they’re having.

“Who’s that?” Noelle, Jack’s coworker, asks in a gossip-y tone. “You’ve been giving them crazy eyes.”

“What crazy eyes?” Jack asks. He definitely doesn’t have crazy eyes, what the fuck, Noelle. “And he’s the newest addition in the roster.”

“Oooh, freshman, then?” she says, raising an eyebrow. Up and down, up and down. “What is it? Do you have feelings for his date or something?”

“No! What the fuck, Noelle?”

“Dude, language,” Marky the cashier scolds him, as though he’s never uttered a single curse word in his life. Which Jack knows for sure is a big fucking lie. Marky swears like a sailor. Once, he even called a customer ‘dumbfuck’ to their face and then hid in the back when they angrily asked to see the manager. Jack sometimes wonders how he still manages to hold onto this job, but like, that’s probably kind of hypocritical? Because Jack’s also absent a lot during the season—roadie, you know?—and the manager hasn’t fired him yet. 

(Jack has suspicions that the old bastard is actually a big hockey fan. That’s why he tolerates Jack’s difficult schedules most of the time, though that doesn’t stop him from yelling at Jack and/or giving him stink-eyes. Dude has _impressive _stink-eyes. The best in Boston, probably.)

“I don’t have feelings towards his girl or anything,” Jack finally says, after bearing Noelle’s questioning eyes some more. “I was just curious how the date’s going.”

“Sure, dude,” she replies, definitely still unbelieving. But who cares? At least she drops it at that.

It gets busy after, a bunch of freshmen coming in, filling the place with endless chatters. Jack doesn’t mind them, not really, goes back to work instead, strolling around the place, taking orders and getting them to the cook. 

Things don’t get interested again until the next half hour or so, when Connor’s date reaches its end. He saunters over the counter and hangs around a little until Jack’s done with his current task and comes over himself.

“Hi, Jack,” Connor greets him, bright-faced. “I took your advice the other day seriously. I think this one went pretty well,”

“Nice,” Jack says and fist bumps him. “She left already?”

“Went to the bathroom,” Connor says, and, when Jack sends him a suspicious look, “_Really_ the bathroom, this time. I saw her went over there,” he points to the small hallway where the bathrooms are.

“Nice,” Jack says again. The girl comes out of the hallway then, waving to Connor with a cheery smile of her own. She really is pretty, Jack thinks, and gives another fist bump to Connor, mentally this time. “Go take her home, Connor.”

Connor nods, flushing a little—which confuses Jack until he realises what he just said. God, only Connor would blush at someone telling him to bring his girl home. Jack didn’t even mean it like _that_, just that Connor should see her back home safely, but whatever.

“Bye, Jack,” Connor says, and he already turns to her before Jack can say anything.

* * *

Connor’s next date takes place in—no surprise—Pizzeroo, _again_, though as variation this time Jack’s shift ended when he gets in with his date. Jack takes a curious glance at her before he slips into the back office and realises she’s the Bruins hat girl.

Guess that one works out, then.

* * *

Jack doesn’t see Connor again until the next practice. Not that he has any chance to say anything then—_practice_, remember? Also not that he has anything to say to Connor like, at all. They’re not that close of friends.

He mostly keeps it professional during, sticks close to his line; no personal talks or gossips, just pure hockey conversations and strategies for their passes to connect better. Jack’s first-liner this year, which he doesn’t think will last longer than he’d like—because of McDavid, yes—though he doesn’t really mind it that much. He means, like, just look at how the dude plays, he’s amazing, period.

Coach calls the end quicker than Jack’d like, so he stays around a bit when everyone’s wrapping up, promises to pick up all the pucks when he’s done as well, just so the rookies would go away. Jack’s working on his one-timer when Connor shows up—or maybe he’s been there all along, Jack unnoticing, whichever.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, voice loud, resonating in the empty rink. “Mind if I join you?”

Jack waves a hand, like _go ahead_, and is about to continue doing his routine when he realises that he doesn’t have to shoot pucks alone, now that Connor has kindly and voluntarily offered to be here as well.

“Hey, Connor,” Jack calls, and when Connor looks up, “wanna practice face-offs?”

Connor grins then, a bright little thing that makes Jack’s mouth curve up into a smile as well, which. Jack’s brain kind of goes _???_ at his reflex—though he deliberately doesn’t dig deeper into it, no thanks.

They both deem it enough exercise for the day after an hour or so, Connor helping him tidy things up before going back to the locker room. Surprisingly it isn’t awkward at all, sharing the usually rowdy shower only between the two of them, and Jack’s starting to think that they’re friends_-friends _when Connor asks him what’s his plan tonight in this... ‘inviting’ way, like Connor would follow whatever answer Jack’s going to give him with ‘can I join in?’ which, seems weird, in a way, how Jack can read that easily (if he’s not wrong, that is, though Jack has a feeling that he isn’t).

“Uh,” Jack says, because he doesn’t actually know what he’s going to do after this. He doesn’t have work, thank god, and no assignments either, which doesn’t happen as often as he’d like. “I was thinking of a night in? Watch something on Netflix and get delivery?” he isn’t sure why he says all of that like a question.

Jack’s earlier predicament is totally right because Connor’s answer is a beam and a polite, “Would you like some company?”

Jack says yes, because of course he does.

So, there. Their plan, decided that easily.

Jack’s dorm room is neither the neatest nor disgustingly messy, just the usual amount of clothes scattered about, a few textbooks here and there—a mess that can be fixed easily. Jack lucked out this year and managed to score himself a single, which he brags to his friends like, every day, because not having to share a room with another college student? Heaven. Jack’s blessed.

“Where do I sit?” Connor asks while Jack’s busy picking up things off his floor. “Your chair is, uh, occupied,”

Honestly, Jack himself hasn’t seen the seating part of that chair since he began moving his things here at the start of the semester, the thing covered with a mountain of clothes and socks and books now. “The bed, dude,” Jack says without taking his eyes off the Business Ethics textbook he hought he’d lost. All this time it’s been laying helplessly under his bed. Ha. “Laptop’s on the table, find something on Netflix, will you?”

“Okay,” Connor says. When Jack glances at him, he’s sitting on the edge of the single bed, Jack’s MacBook perched atop his thighs, a picture perfect of discomfort.

“Dude,” Jack scolds, rolling his eyes a little, “make yourself comfortable. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever the fuck. I’m not gonna get mad at you for rucking up the sheets.”

“Your bed’s not even made,” Connor retaliates, which makes Jack cackles, but he does look more relaxed after, lying across the left side of the single.

Jack thinks about getting out of his jeans, change into sweats or something, but he isn’t sure where he stands with Connor for this kind of thing. Does he have to go to the shared bathroom outside? Would Connor get flustered if Jack were to pull off his pants right in front of him? Too many risks. In the end Jack shrugs and settles on the bed still in his jeans, reasoning that he still has to answer the delivery person later.

Connor chooses a mockumentary that Jack hasn’t watched, looking interesting enough that he doesn’t protest. They’re lying side by side, the space between them neither small nor wide, enough for them to not touch each other but still close enough for Jack to feel the heat Connor’s body’s radiating. It’s... kind of intimate? Jack doesn’t usually notice this kinda thing, goes past by him like nothing, but for some reason everything about Connor makes him double-take, give a second glance, think twice.

It’s weird. Jack, of course, doesn’t think about it.

They finally order some food halfway into the film, squabbling a bit about the menu they’re getting—Connor, why-is-this-not-surprising, stubbornly demands for healthy food, stating “we have diet plan to follow, Jack,” until Jack points out that Chinese food also have vegetables in it, _repeatedly_. They only agree on Chinese after Jack promises to ask for double veggies (is that even a thing? Do you ask for more veggies when ordering Chinese? Jack doesn’t know, but he’ll do so, because he isn’t a liar).

(Though Jack’s also holding himself back from calling Connor a hypocrite because, like, all those pizzas Connor’s gotten from Pizzeroo? Totally not in their diet plan either, dude.)

“So, how’s the Bruins girl?” Jack asks, finally, can’t help from using the gossipy tone. His curiosity’s... been bothering him about it, kind of, and he _just _has to find out, okay? “You two dating yet?”

“Huh?” Connor inquires, looking as confused as he sounds.

“That girl with the Bruins hat, Connor, the one you brought to Pizzeroo the other day,”

“Oh, you mean Bridget? Um,” Connor trails off, turns his gaze away from Jack. “I took her out again few days ago to, uh, the park? It was her idea,”

Jack’s honestly surprised Connor knows other places outside the campus and the pizza parlor. “Yeah? How’d it go?”

“Pretty well,” Connor says.

It’s weird that Connor doesn’t sound super excited about it. Like, date with a hot girl went successful? Jack wouldn’t shut up about it at least for two weeks. But like, this is Connor McDavid, and he’s always struck Jack as ‘kind of weird,’ so.

As it is, Jack doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just nods, agreeable, and goes back to watching the screen. His phone vibrates then, the delivery guy telling him the food’s there, so Jack snatches his wallet and goes downstairs.

Connor insists on paying his own portion, which Jack isn’t really opposed to, but like, it’s not that big a deal. Plus, Jack’s just gotten his salary for the month from Pizzeroo, he is kind of rich at the moment. Jack tells him that, but Connor starts to frown really hard at him.

“It’s not that much, man,” Jack says with a shrug. “But if you’re so against it you can buy me dinner next time.”

“Next time?” Connor repeats.

Jack nods. “Next time.”

Connor stays around for another episode, even though it’s late already, but tomorrow’s Saturday—which means no classes—and he can stay the night if he wants to. That is, if he doesn’t mind sharing the cramped single with Jack.

“I don’t mind it,” Connor says. “I have this ability to fall asleep on every flat surface that’s at least 1% comfortable,”

Jack laughs. “Okay, then. I have a spare toothbrush if you want. And you can borrow pajamas, as long as you promise to return them washed.”

“No problem, Jack.” Connor says, also smiling.

“Okay.”

For some reason they’re speaking lowly now, not quite whispering, but close, as though being too loud would shatter whatever companionship they’re having right now. Jack honestly does not know. It’s been a strange day—though in a good way, of course in a good way.

It’s after the current episode ends and the computers loads the next one that the silence breaks.

“Jack,” Connor calls, kind of urgent-sounding, which makes Jack’s closed eyes open immediately. “Jack,”

“’Sup?” Jack replies.

“Jack, I think, uh—I think,” Connor begins to say, hurried, like if he doesn’t blurt it out right now it’ll escape him. “I don’t think I like girls. I think—Jack. I think I’m gay?”

Oh.

_Oh_. Jack _absolutely _didn’t expect that.

“Oh shit, seriously?” Jack automatically says, and then, when Connor’s face falls, “I didn’t mean it like, in a bad way! Sometimes I like guys, too, so like. I get the urge. But, seriously?”

Connor’s face does something again and Jack can see like, 7 expressions playing across it, which is surprising, considering he’s a robot. His voice is quiet when he speaks: “You, too?”

“It’s not a big deal, Connor,” Jack says, then backtracks because that doesn’t seem the right supportive thing to say to someone who just came out to you. “I mean, it is! If you want it to be! Fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

Connor lets out a small laugh. It sounds relieved.

“Did you just realise this? Like, just now?” Jack asks. Again, can’t help it.

“Um,” Connor says, hesitant. “I think so?”

“Well, uh,” fuck, that means Jack has to get it right in order to not traumatize him. You know, like, in case he doesn’t give out impression that being gay is perfectly okay and people—or at least those who matter—will still love you the way you are and Connor regrets being so? Is that even possible? Personally Jack doesn’t think it’s possible to regret your own sexuality. “Thanks for telling me?”

“Thanks for telling me, too, Jack,” Connor says. And, yep, Jack did, in a way, just come out to Connor McDavid as well.

Some more silence. Jack honestly doesn’t know what he should say, how _much _he could say, like, he doesn’t want to make Connor feels uncomfortable. Jack will easily admit that he’s nosy as fuck, but Connor would probably not react to more questions very well, you know?

Still, the silence is getting more and more stilted, atmosphere heavy with a lot of unsaid thoughts. It’s the kind of deafening silence that stretches time, making it longer than it should be. At the end Jack’s curiosity defeats Jack’s common-sense and he asks, “What brought this on, Connor?” through a murmur.

Connor takes his time to answer, fiddling with the laptop’s chord across the bed. Finally, he says: “Dunno... nothing in particular? It just wasn’t cutting it—being with girls, I mean. And I haven’t thought about it a lot so I might be wrong? About the gay part.”

Jack holds back from pointing out that it is also a possibility Connor isn’t _gay_, he just hasn’t found the right girl to make him feel ‘things’. But Jack figures it’s not really polite to do so, and like, Connor’s able to figure that out himself in his own time. So he only hums and they go back to watching.

“This is honestly a mess,” Jack mutters to himself later, when the room’s dark and Connor’s steady breathing is the only sound in the air.

Still, somehow, Jack doesn’t really mind it.

* * *

Connor doesn’t visit Pizzeroo anymore, after. Which probably means he isn’t going on dates anymore. Which means Jack doesn’t see a lot of him outside of hockey. They still talk, sure, they’re not awkward at all after that late night conversation, and Jack keeps his mouth shut, _of course _he keeps his mouth shut—it’s just that now the season’s here and the semester’s reaching its middle, the both of them too busy being swamped up, and Jack understands. He does.

He still has to squeeze down the sudden urge to be disappointed.

* * *

It’s Thursday after their roadie that Connor’s texts come.

_Are you working tonight? Like, at the pizza place? _

_This is connor btw. _

_Connor mcdavid. _

_?_

_I got your # from matt. Is it ok?_

A snort escaped before Jack can stop himself. The velocity in which the texts are arriving makes it seem like Connor’s kind of panicking right now, double-texting in the hope of avoiding weirdness and yet still manages to land them right there. Too bad Jack can’t make fun of him.

_Nope, no work today. _Jack texts back, _why? also yes. It’s totally ok. _

_Oh, _Connor replies, _would you mind going there with me for dinner? I have coupons. _

Jack also has an employee discount which he can cash out literally anytime he wants—surprisingly Pizzeroo is kind of generous towards its employees, or not so surprising, see: Jack’s difficult hockey schedule—but he’s not going to say so, in case this is like, an olive branch for them to meet again or something. Definitely not like Jack’s dying to see Connor. Ha ha. Absolutely not.

_Yeah, sure. What time? _Jack sends.

_7? _Connor replies, _I can do anytime if you can’t at 7. _

_7’s fine_, Jack texts. _See you there connor _

_Okay jack :) _

The heck is up with that emoji, Jack wonders, but chooses to drop it instead. He goes back to typing away on his laptop, trying to finish the Ethics paper he’s been putting off for the last three days. He was planning to get it done tonight so he can chill out come weekend, but obviously his brain isn’t cooperating (he keeps getting stuck at the word ‘outside stakeholders,’ ‘corporate governance,’ and ‘social responsibility’). Five minutes later—to the surprise of exactly no one—he deems the thing a lost cause and decides to get ready instead.

Pizzeroo isn’t crowded when Jack gets there, Connor already seated at table #5, wearing the exact same outfits as the first time Jack’s approached him. Jack’s judging him, Jack’s _definitely _judging so hard.

“Hi,” Connor greets, and when Jack’s sat down as well, “I asked the waitress over there to get you your favorite pizza when I ordered. Is that okay?”

Jack glances at ‘the waitress’ and gets a sly look from Noelle _and _risen eyebrows from Marky. Fuck. “They totally think we’re on a date right now,” Jack sighs as he turns back to face Connor. “You can no longer bring your future dates here, because I’m pretty sure they’re gonna give and your dates a hellish treatment. I’m talking burnt pizza and disgustingly lukewarm drinks.”

It’s true, it happened once when Josie’s ex-girlfriend showed up with her allegedly ‘new boo’. Noelle even went as far as “accidentally” pouring water all over her clothes, apologising profusely after with a smirk that indicated no, she wasn’t sorry at all. It was kind of funny. Very, very mean, but still funny.

“Um,” Connor says, looking shy all of a sudden. “That’s actually why we’re here?”

Jack raises an eyebrow, doesn’t quite get what he’s trying to say. “We’re on a date?” he asks.

“Yes?” Connor says with... a hopeful look? “I thought you knew?”

Jack has like, a few paragraphs to say to that—the first one being, ‘you don’t ask someone to go out for dinner because you have _coupons_ and then say it’s a date,’ and the rest being, ‘what? Since when do you have _feelings _for me?’

Instead, what comes out of Jack’s mouth is, “Maybe if you get rid of the whole douchey fratboy look first,”—because Jack _is _an asshole, and he’ll own up to it—“then I’ll consider this a date.” He gives Connor a mostly-joking customary check-out, just to send the point across.

“Jack,” Connor deadpans, staring pointedly at Jack. “You wear a headband. I don’t think you’re allowed a say in this.”

That’s fair. Doesn’t mean Jack won’t sputter and try to argue while simultaneously laughing his ass off.

“Okay, totally didn’t expect that,” Jack manages to get out after his laughter subsides a bit.

Connor only gives him a smug look.

Jack tries his best to not coo because, like, smug is a fucking good look on Connor. He mostly has it under control when he inquires, “But what—what is this really, Connor? Like, is this about that dare your roommate gave you?”

Honestly Jack kind of sort of doesn’t want to find out. If Connor said yes, then what? Does Jack pretend that won’t hurt his feelings a little? Do they continue being friends? It’s weird. Jack usually isn’t a worrier, but, again, this is Connor McDavid, and apparently the dude has that kind of effect on Jack. Without Jack even realising, which sucks, because apparently Jack has feelings now?—like, special ones—towards Connor?

The whole thing is a big ??? in Jack’s head.

“No! It’s not that. Jack, I would not—” Connor explains hurriedly. “It’s—it’s real, Jack, I think I.. really like you?”

A nod is the only thing Jack can manage right now, sadly.

“Okay, I guess you want explanation? I, uh,” Connor trails off, adjusts the way he’s sitting, like he’s nervous—which. He probably is. Sorry, Connor, but Jack’s not going to be able to help you out of this one. He takes a sip of his water before continuing. “Remember our talk that night, Jack? You asked me ‘what brought this on?’ and I said I don’t know, but I was lying, because I. I knew. I’ve known for a while, then, it was—uh, it was you?”

Jack waits for the next part of the explanation, but nothing, Connor staring at him expectantly instead of talking.

At the end Jack sighs. “Sorry, dude, but you gotta help me understand this one better.” He says, not actually sorry, “What do you mean it was me?”

Connor exhales, he looks like he’d rather hide under the table—Jack feels for him—but he isn’t a quitter, Jack knows, so of course he opens his mouth again. “It was you, because, because you made feel things, Jack.” He mutters lowly, which, yeah. This is definitely not the place to have this conversation. “At first I thought it was the... the gay part of me, like, I’m attracted to you because you are a guy, and all this time I was looking at girls, so that’s why they didn’t... they weren’t cutting it. That’s why I, uh, think I was gay. So I’ve been—trying things, with other guys—”

“Hold up,” Jack cuts. “You’ve been _trying _what exactly Connor?”

“No, not like that! I’m not doing things with them, I was just, y’know, imagining being with them, like kissing, and, and uh, other activities? But I’m not actually doing things!”

“Okay, sorry, please continue,” Jack says, waving a hand.

Connor takes a deep breath. “Okay, so. That didn’t make me feel things either? Like, there’s this good-looking guy in my class and I tried to picture us together and it just wasn’t... I dunno, I don’t want it? With him? So I came to the realisation that maybe I was not only gay, but also, uh, gay for you? Because you—thinking about being with you actually make sense in my head? And, um, talking to you is also kind of easy, like I don’t have to think hard to come up with interesting topics. I can just... speak, and you would understand? Jack. Jack, please stop laughing, I’m a hundred percent serious and you’re making fun of my feelings.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Jack wheezes, doubling over. “Sorry, sorry, let me take a breather.” He’s calmer a moment later, but goes back to laughing histerically when he sees Connor’s face and remembers the _gay for you_ part. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I promise I’m not making fun of you,”

Connor frowns at that, but he lets Jack laugh his ass off as he chews on his pizza. The sight makes it worse for Jack because literally two months ago Connor had been doing that, too, here in Pizzeroo, backwards snapback and tight henley and chewing on a slice of pizza while his date’d fled from the shop like her ass was on fire.

And Jack’d called him Douchey _McDouchey_, in his head.

It’s—yeah. It’s something.

God, Jack’s definitely gay for the dude, too.

* * *

Later, _gay for you _becomes a catchphrase in their ‘lovey-dovey’ couple life (because of course it does. Jack’s an asshole like that, and Connor’s pretty used to it by now).

Exhibit #1:

**Me | 8:30 am **

_Morning baby. you still gay for me? reply yes for free pancakes. _

Exhibit #2:

**Me | 10:10 pm **

_What do you mean no, you’re not going with me to the party? _

_McDavid I thought you were gay for me??_

**Connor | 10:12 pm **

_Being gay for you doesn’t mean getting drunk on shitty booze at some shitty party jack _

_Come over instead my roommate’s gone 4 the night _

**Me | 10:14 pm**

_The guys say we suck _

_But omw _

Exhibit #3:

**Me | 1:18 pm**

_Come shoot the pucks with me? _

**Connor | 1:19 pm**

_Nope _

_You’re injured jack pls just rest_

**Me | 1:20 pm**

_But im bored outta my mind _

_I’ve been resting for WEEKS_

_This isn’t u being gay for me mcdavid _

_This is u being uncaring _

**Connor | 1:22 pm**

_No this is me being in love with you _

_By not letting you injure yourself further_

_Just let me finish this one paper first then i’ll come over_

**Me | 1:23 pm**

_OH????? _

_It’s like that? _

_Ok but bring food _

_And none of that healthy shit you pretend to like so much_

_Bring GREASY food _

_I deserve that at the v least _

**Connor | 1:23 pm**

_‘I love you too Connor’ _

**Me | 1:24 pm**

_Hahaha _

_But yes_

_i love you too connor _

Exhibit #4:

They didn’t go out tonight, choosing to stay in after being separated for so long. Connor doesn’t seem to mind when Jack asks him to not make a reservation somewhere—their usual plan after being apart the entirety of weekdays—doesn’t ask questions, either, which Jack’s grateful for, kind of, because this is. Yeah. This is nerve-wrecking.

Jack cooks—he doesn’t, usually, he’s too busy for that, but he does pick up a few things about cooking along the way, and his mom’s reassured him that his rigatoni pasta is decent, at least enough for him to be able to show it off. That’s not his plan tonight, though, showing off, his rigatoni pasta is here to help him woo Connor—not that Connor needs to be wooed, Jack pretty much has him locked down, but like, nice gestures are clearly important tonight, so.

Connor kisses him at the door, an intense one involving tongues and left them breathless that shouldn’t be done anywhere else but their bedroom, but Jack’s not complaining.

“Shower first? Then dinner?” Jack asks as he lies down on their bed, feet still touching the ground, watching Connor undoes his shirt. “I made dinner.”

Connor looks tired, but his smile is still bright enough to blind Jack. “Shower first,” he says before disappearing into the bathroom.

Jack takes the moment to snag the ring box from his sock drawer—cliche, yes, but who fucking cares—and opens it to make sure the silver band’s still sitting there. God, he’s jittery as hell. “You better still be gay for me!” he yells at the bathroom’s door, for like, extra assurance. “’Cause I’ve got plans for you, darling!”

Okay, _darling _is maybe pushing it a bit. But Connor only yells back, “Sure, Jack!”

Jack glances at the ring box in his hand once more before putting it in one of his pockets. Plans. Yep, he’s totally got _plans _tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a lot for reading this!!! can i get uuuhhh,,,, feedbacks


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